Page 27 of A Gold Medal in Love

It’s interesting to see how they utilize the rink. I see from watching Blake that their relationship with the ice goes as deep as the one I have with it. The difference lies in the way we commune with that frosty surface. My bond is artistic, delicate, and feminine. Blake’s is aggressive, powerful, and dominating, even as much as it is respectful.

Which… honestly, is how I feel when they interact with me. I feel just that—dominated, even while I’m being respected. Blake peels apart every corner of my mind and gently caresses it.

Hilarious to think about as I watch them aggressively hit a Czech player from behind, causing the woman to slide into a sprawl on the ice, which results in a blown whistle with them sent to what looks like an adult time-out. Everyone in my section boos, so it either wasn’t a cool thing for Blake to do, or we don’t like the decision about it.

It hits me that the game is obviously where Blake lets themself off the proverbial leash.

Enraptured, I watch them throw off their helmet, take down their hair, and shake it out before pouring a bottle of water on their head that was handed to them by one of those angry people in black-and-white stripes.

I think it’s obvious that this attraction to Blake needs to go from our active imaginations to the physical plane. The question is, what do I want it to look like? They said a lot of hot thingsin our conversation yesterday, but do I want all of those things? Could Ihandleall of those things?

Blake gets out of the glassed-in box reoutfitted for their task and takes off like a bullet, this time hitting a player from the side and stealing the puck before passing it to another American player.

Both people I’m sandwiched between scream their hearts out, so the verdict is in: we love number five. I guess I’m in good company, but I still feel too awkward to cheer like the rest of the arena. I’m just a displaced figure-skater, what can I say?

One thing I can do is let a smile creep over my face while watching Blake on the ice. They seem really good at this ice hockey thing, but I have to confess to wondering how they’d be as a paired partner. I sigh as I imagine us dancing together on the ice, Blake lifting me into beautiful positions and then slowly lowering me to the ground, making sure to press our bodies intimately together in a sensual move as they do so. Dance like that really is just translating sex to the audience via an ice-skating medium, so perhaps I should just bite the bullet.

I could go up to Blake and be like, “I’m yours, Sir.” No, too much.

The game starts again, and I realize I’ve daydreamed my way through the break between game times. The score is 0-0, but the USA crowd seems excited like they aren’t worried about the lack of scoring at this point in the game.

My two bottles of water are gone, but I missed the window to get another. I could go right now, but I’d miss an opportunity to see Blake perform. They aren’t always on the ice, but it’s not like anyone has a little clock flashing to tell me how long their break time has left. The whole thing is dicey… just like the idea to fuck my roommate at the Olympics while I’m aiming for a gold medal.

I feel a vibration in my pants pocket and pull out my phone to see that Mummy is calling me. Silencing the call, I scooch out of the aisle and up the stairs, finding a quick hideaway to call her back. She’s so busy with her umpteen jobs that when she calls, I answer. I make the fucking time when she can fit me into her life, as scarce as those opportunities arise.

“You just send me to voicemail now?” She answers when the call connects.

“Just until I can get somewhere I can talk, Mum. It’s noisy in here,” I explain, shifting to plug my other ear so I can hear her better.

“Hm. It does seem loud. Where are you?” She questions, her voice getting louder, like that will help override the cacophony in this arena.

“Um. Well. You’re going to laugh, but I’m at a hockey game?” I spit out nervously.

“Hm. Interesting. Tell me more about this. What drew you to a hockey game?” She perks up her voice.

“I’m allowed to have hobbies in my off-time,” I defend.

“Of course you are. You’re the one who’s all ‘gold medal or bust, Mummy. Winners never quit, and quitters never win. Blah, blah, blah,’” she parrots.

“I don’t sound like that,” I huff.

“Sure. You’re evading. What drew you to a hockey game?” She presses.

“Just seeing what Milan has to offer, that’s all,” I respond vaguely.

“Tell me, dear daughter, what Milanese food have you had recently?” She changes tack.

I shift the phone to my other ear and turn away from the sound of the game. “Mm. Went with a friend to a local place, nothing big,” I say casually.

“Aha! This is about a girl!” She exclaims wickedly.

“Goddamnit, my defenses are so poor with you,” I complain, slumping where I stand.

“Did my beautiful baby meet someone all the way in Europe?” She prods me with obvious excitement in her voice.

“It’s my roommate. The room arrangements got weird. They’re a hockey player,” I mumble.

“They? You’re rooming with more than one person? Is this a throuple sort of scenario? I don’t know if I’m enlightened enough for that. Maybe call me back and start the conversation over,” she teases me.